From the heart: Miracle triplets, but no one knew my suffering. One mum’s dark thoughts took over
Marie Hutchinson, 32, had longed to be a mum – but dark thoughts were threatening to ruin everything...
We’d been told to look for a fuzzy white shape on the screen. But as I lay in the scan room gripping my husband Marc’s hand, we both were amazed to see three bobbing around. The sonographer had called for the doctor and when she came in, she nodded and smiled. ‘So it’s triplets,’ she said.
It was May 2013 and Marc, then 29, and I had been trying to have a baby for the past five years. I suffered from endometriosis, which caused blockages in my fallopian tubes, so I’d been warned conceiving could be difficult. Our first go at IVF had failed and I think Marc and I had begun to believe we’d never be parents. And yet here, with our second attempt, we’d hit the jackpot. ‘Three babies,’ I said, my voice shaking with shock and excitement.
But then it hit me. ‘We only had one embryo implanted,’ I said. ‘How can there be three babies?’
The doctor explained that although it was rare, the embryo might have split into three after implantation. But we were sent for another scan and that revealed that the IVF embryo had developed into just one baby. ‘It’s likely you conceived twins naturally around the time of the IVF treatment,’ the doctor told us. We were stunned and so were the doctors – they’d never seen this before. Our babies already felt like miracles but now they truly were, medical miracles. Marc and I lived on a high, so excited, but then as the months passed my bump grew and I felt continually drained and exhausted. Marc and I converted two rooms in our house in Barnsley, South Yorkshire, into one bedroom big enough for three cots. I bought tiny outfits and toys. ‘I just want it all to be perfect,’ I told Marc.
But I couldn’t control everything. In October 2013, at 30 weeks, I was admitted to hospital with headaches and nausea and within two weeks, I started having contractions. ‘You’re in early labour,’ a midwife explained. I was so scared. My due date was Christmas Day and yet, here we were, still two months away. Doctors prepared me for the caesarean operation, including putting me under anaesthetic. When I woke, I discovered that Olly had been born weighing 3Ib 13oz, followed by his sisters Ava, weighing 3Ib 6oz, and Freya, 3Ib. When I was wheeled to see them in the special care baby unit, I burst into tears. ‘They’re beautiful,’ I sobbed. None of the babies were identical but they all had light brown hair and beautiful little
‘I felt continually drained and exhausted’
features. I’d sit with them every day, amazed as the nurses fed, changed and bathed them with such easy efficiency. But when I finally brought them home, I panicked. They were now 24 days old and I’d get one settled and then the other would cry. I was terrified I was doing something wrong, or I wasn’t feeding them enough. Marc helped all he could but after a fortnight, he had to get back to his sales job. I fretted all the time. Olly had reflux and cried constantly, which meant I had to leave the girls in their cots while I tended to him.
I’d always been house proud, but I couldn’t keep on top of the washing or cleaning. I struggled to get dressed before mid-morning even though I’d been up since dawn and I felt trapped in the house, seeing the outside world as too daunting a place to try to take three little babies.
‘This isn’t how I imagined motherhood,’ I told Marc one night. Every stage of the triplets’ development brought fresh challenges. I became haunted by the fact that I was somehow letting them down, that they could never thrive with me as a mum. Then one day, when they were three months old, I watched a TV programme about a mum who had been jailed for killing her baby. My heart pounded as I watched her explain how she’d shaken her baby in a temper when he hadn't stopped crying. I knew I loved my babies so much but I kept thinking what if I snapped, what if I too did something in a moment of madness? I was too ashamed to tell anyone.
When the babies cried, I became convinced I was going to break and end up in prison for hurting them. Every morning, I woke with a sense of dread. Every evening, I lay wishing that I could be a better mum. ‘I wish I’d never had triplets,’ I’d think. ‘It’s too hard.’ And that only made me feel all the more guilty.
And yet, to the outside world, I’d force a smile. In every sense I looked like the perfect mummy. And when Marc and I got married on 25 April 2014, when the babies were six months old, we looked every inch the happy family. This pretence gnawed away inside me all the more. I was a fake, and my children deserved better.
They were eight months old when one day I sank on to the stairs in numb despair. Marc was at home, the babies were also there and it was as if the strain of the last eight months had suddenly become too much for me. In my head, the words ‘you’re a bad mum’ kept beating and yet no one could hear. Clutching my knees to my chest, I began hitting my head against the stair wall, over and over, the pain barely registering. Marc came running over. ‘Stop it,’ he begged. ‘What’s wrong?’
I broke down in tears and he wrapped me in his arms, and got me to our doctor’s surgery. There, in the sterile, calm room, I found the words.
‘I should be happy but I’m not,’ I wept. Marc looked so sad for me. The doctor was sympathetic. ‘You have all the symptoms of postnatal depression,’ she said. I’d wondered if it could be PND but I’d been too scared to admit it. I was prescribed anti -depressants, which I hated, but as they began to work, a sense of calm came over me and I felt stronger than I had been in months. I stopped blaming myself and realised that it was little wonder I’d suffered such shock. From failed fertility treatment to having triplets, my journey to motherhood had been traumatic. I learnt to stop putting so much pressure on myself and swallowed my pride to ask for more help from my family and friends.
I also realised that my fears about hurting my babies had been a symptom of my illness. It was slow progress but gradually I began enjoying time with them. By the time of their first birthday I was able to feel excitement as I wrapped their gifts, to see a future with my children.
Marc hugged me. ‘You’re an amazing mum,’ he said and that normal sense of dread and fear didn’t hit me. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I think we’re both amazing parents.’
Now Olly, Freya and Ava are three. Olly is a typical boy and he adores his sisters. Freya is a calm, gentle soul, while Ava is headstrong and feisty.
Most women know about PND but perhaps not how deeply it can strike, or how it can leave you feeling so hopelessly afraid.
I’m glad I got help, and I urge every mum who thinks they may be suffering to do the same. Motherhood is hardly ever easy but with help, love and support it can be the best thing in the world.